Doppelgangers
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #25 Spock and Lauren have completed their week of bonding and are back serving aboard the Enterprise when a shuttle crash strands Lauren with Christine Chapel. Not exactly a vacation...


On the bridge of the Enterprise, Spock alerted to a sudden blip on the long-range scanners and quickly fingered the controls. There was no quelling the surge of excitement as he examined the data, making doubly sure of his discovery.

"Captain," he announced, "I have located the shuttle."

Kirk sprang from the command chair and joined Spock at the science station, peering over his shoulder.

"It is on a planetoid," Spock reported, "marginal class M atmosphere—frozen, but capable of supporting human life, given adequate shelter. Despite sub-zero temperatures, there are pools of fluid water warmed by subterranean volcanic activity. If they are near one—" As he spoke, three human life signs began to register, but his momentary relief gave way to perplexity.

Kirk noticed the strange readings, too. "What the—"

"Perhaps," Spock said, "a closer look at the planetoid will help clarify the situation."

While the captain called for a change in course, Spock set aside his personal interest in one of the missing humans and began to analyze the contradictory glut of information.

oooo

Something roused Lauren. The doctor's eye snapped open, and seeing the frosted interior of the shuttlecraft, she almost groaned in disappointment. With a shiver, she sat upright and burrowed deeper into her hooded coat. Each breath formed a cloud that settled over every surface and froze into feathery patterns.

Now Christine Chapel also sat up, followed by Ensign Michael Willoughby, who had piloted the shuttle to its present inhospitable location. They had been returning from a mission of mercy, expecting to rendezvous with the Enterprise, when the shuttle systems began to shut down. Low gravity had assured a blessedly gentle landing, but they soon discovered that the emergency beacon, as well as their combadges and phasers, were all inoperative. Clearly, Willoughby's skill as a pilot was not to blame for their situation. Some planetary element was at work here. At this point only one question mattered: How long could they survive?

Though Lauren Fielding and Chris Chapel were both doctors, Chapel was older and also the ranking officer. Wordlessly Chapel opened the locker and brought out a single ration pack to share. It was the morning of the third day, and strict emergency procedures were now in place. The shuttle's water tank had iced solid, but they were fortunate to have located a liquid water source not far from their site.

Lauren ate her meager ration hungrily, then headed out the door. Overhead, a slate gray sky seemed frozen. The bitter air was perfectly still. Her body felt light and buoyant as she moved along the snow-packed trail. It was good to be alone for a few moments, away from Chapel's hard, unfriendly glances.

Up ahead she saw steam hovering like a wraith, and picked up her pace. At the edge of the hot spring, she dropped down on her knees. Bending to the water, she pulled off her gloves and drank from cupped hands before splashing her face. Resting back on her heels, she thought with longing of the snug, comfortable quarters she shared with her husband aboard the Enterprise. They had been married only a short time, and she keenly missed him. _Where was Spock now? What was he thinking? What was taking him so long to find them?_

A strange, unsettled feeling crept over her. Sensing a presence, she leapt to her feet, heart pounding, and scanned the bleak landscape. On a snow-barren hill she glimpsed movement—a hint of a coat-wrapped figure—then it was gone. "Willoughby!" she shouted. "Chapel! Is that you?"

An icy breeze chilled her damp face and stirred a loose strand of golden hair. Then all was silent.

Lauren's skin prickled. Tightening the hood of her coat, she ran all the way back to the shuttle.

oooo

As the Enterprise neared the ice-clad planetoid, her impulse engines lurched and reports of malfunctions began to pour in from all decks.

"Curious," Spock observed from his seat at the science station. "The planetoid is somehow causing a power drain. I am boosting the energy containment field and increasing the shielding to the power grid."

"Withdraw to maximum transporter range," Kirk told the helmsman. The measures served to stabilize the ship. "Now we know what happened to our shuttle," he remarked. "The shielding on its power system couldn't stand up to this. Spock, how long can we?"

There was no way for Spock to estimate a timeframe. He merely said, "Unknown. It will require constant monitoring." He was aware of Kirk watching from the command chair, waiting expectantly for an update on the sensor readings. With his eyes on the panel, he said, "They were saved from a fatal impact by low gravity…but…" He hesitated, lest his voice betray the depth of his frustration.

"But?" Kirk prompted.

Spock steeled himself and looked squarely at the captain. "According to my instruments, there are 356,749 disabled shuttlecraft, complete with crew."

"Not debris, but intact shuttlecraft?"

"So it appears."

Kirk turned to communications. "Uhura, see if you can raise them."

Her fingers moved over her board and there was an interval of silence. Touching her ear receptor, she faced the captain. "Nothing, sir. I'll keep trying."

"Their com system is probably malfunctioning like everything else," Kirk said. "Mister Spock, we both know there's only one shuttle down there. Sounds like a sensor glitch."

Spock reported, "I've run a system check. It is not a malfunction. The power-draining anomaly is likely causing a refractive condition that results in phantom readings. I suggest we lock onto one set of life signs at a time and attempt to transport them."

"All 356 thousand…?"

"Seven hundred forty-nine," Spock finished in the name of accuracy. "Considering the harsh environment below, I suggest we begin at once."

"Yes, by all means," Kirk said.

Spock swung back to his console and restraining a sense of urgency, methodically initiated his plan.

oooo

As Lauren finished her breathless report, Chapel smirked.

"Someone wearing a Starfleet coat?" Chapel said with open skepticism. "A man…perhaps with pointed ears?"

Lauren flushed with anger. "I didn't say it was a man. I only saw the person for an instant—but the pants were black and the coat looked like Starfleet issue." She glanced at Willoughby. "I don't suppose it was one of you—no, impossible—you couldn't have beat me back here."

Chapel rose and adjusted her hood. "I'll go check it out. I could use a warm drink, anyway."

Retreating into her thoughts, Lauren sat down while Willoughby tested and retested the shuttle systems for some sign of power. It was better with Chapel gone. There was a bitter chill around the woman that had nothing to do with the climate.

Lauren's eyes were drawn downward, to the source of the tension between them. Sliding off her left glove, she gazed at the small gold ring. Cold had made her flesh shrink, and the wedding band might slip off if she was not careful. It had not left her finger since that day in San Francisco when Spock placed it there. Vividly she recalled the heat in the Vulcan embassy's solarium, the abundant food, and Spock's love as his mind joined hers in the ritual bonding of Vulcan marriage. She would never forget the private kiss they shared afterward, in a vacant room. And then, the blissful days of Toi Chana… _Could he sense her thoughts now through the bond they shared? Did he know she was thinking of him?_

oooo

Partway through the next watch, Spock left the bridge for a time. At his cabin he exchanged his uniform jacket for a meditation robe, assumed the traditional pose, and attempted to settle his mind. A troubling vision arose—intolerable cold…and hunger...and fear. Logic told him that he was doing everything possible to rescue his wife, yet every inch of him cried out for quick, decisive action.

A doorchime roused him and he was on his feet, pulse racing, even before he could say, "Enter."

The captain walked in, and seeing the unmasked anticipation in Spock's eyes, quickly said, "No news yet."

Spock could not relax fully.

"Those…doppelgangers getting to you?" Kirk asked with a wry smile.

"Doppelgangers?" Spock consulted his memory. "I am not familiar with that term."

"I guess that wasn't part of your re-education," Kirk continued in a friendly vein. "A doppelganger is a ghostly double."

"Incorporeal. Yes, quite apt. The planetoid drains some forms of energy and refracts others. I am wondering…when we locate the shuttle crew…how well the transporter will function under those conditions."

Kirk's expression grew serious. "The test runs came out alright."

Spock silently nodded. They both knew that plants and inanimate objects were far less complex than a human body.

"We'll get her out," Kirk said adamantly.

A brash promise, considering, but Spock understood that it was meant only as a reassurance, so he let the captain's words go unchallenged.

oooo

Though no one else had spotted the mysterious figure, hope made Lauren search the bleak landscape each time she ventured outdoors. As evening came on, the clouds briefly parted, revealing a dim pair of suns low in the frosty gray sky. Loneliness flared, and the unrelenting cold drove her back inside the shuttle, away from the rising wind. Within the hour a blizzard was blowing. Warmed by the nightly thermogran tablet, she wrapped herself with a blanket and tried to sleep, but hunger gnawed at her while the storm buffeted the shuttle.

In the morning they shared another pack of rations. Though the storm had eased up, the mood was somber. Willoughby left for the hot spring, but Lauren could not face the bitter wind just yet.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Chapel said, "Well."

Lauren tried to ignore her, but it was no use.

Chapel's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Well, 'happily ever after' didn't turn out to be very long—did it?"

Lauren welcomed a rush of anger—it helped keep her blood moving. "They'll find us," she said through her teeth.

"You mean _he'll_ find _you_. But by the look of things, he's not trying very hard, is he? After all, he's the one who watches the scanners. We weren't very far off-course. He should have located us by now—if he _wanted_ to. Maybe he just pretended he didn't see us, and sailed on by. He would know how to scrub the scanner record."

Lauren struggled up, her legs stiff with cold and inactivity. "What are you saying? That Spock is sorry he married me? And because of that he'd just let us all freeze to death?"

A shadow of pain swept Chapel's face and for a moment Lauren almost pitied this woman with her dogged, unrequited love for Spock. Holding her voice steady, she said, "He's not like that—you know he's not."

Tears welled in Chapel's eyes, then she was out the door.

oooo

Though it was not yet time, Spock relieved the junior officer manning his science station and monitored the sensor array as the transporter cycled twice per minute, methodically working its way from one set of life form readings to the next. The planetoid's strain on the ship's power grid had sometimes made it necessary to move out of range. After three days, the transporter had achieved less than 8000 attempts.

Spock found his thoughts straying to the old beach house on the California coast where he had enjoyed the bonding of Toi-Chana with his bride. If only Lauren were still there, warmed by the sun, safe beside the ocean she loved.

The swish of turbolift doors drew his attention back to business. Even without looking, he recognized the footsteps moving toward him.

Doctor McCoy said, "Any news?"

Glancing up, Spock reported, "No change."

McCoy looked as if he had not slept. Lauren and Doctor Chapel were senior members of his medical staff and also his personal friends. Very quietly McCoy said, "It should be me down there, instead of them…"

Spock gave the doctor his full attention. "And should I, rather than Willoughby, have piloted the shuttle? No, Doctor. As senior officers, it was proper for us to remain aboard ship."

"Yes." McCoy sighed. "Proper."

Spock did not trust himself to speak. As his eyes returned to the readout panel, he merely nodded.

oooo

It had been a bad night and an unpleasant morning. Lauren's nerves were frayed from cold and hunger. She was relieved when Chapel got up and left the shuttle. Alone with Willoughby, she studied the ensign as he huddled in his corner, eyes closed, whispering to himself. She had noticed him doing this once before and she did not like the look of it.

"Willoughby," she said.

His eyelids opened, revealing calm brown eyes beneath a fringe of equally brown hair. All through their ordeal, young Willoughby had maintained steadfast composure, but now Lauren wondered if his mind was slipping.

"Ensign," she began again, "were you saying something?"

Willoughby shivered and his lips curved into a little smile. "Yes, ma'am, I was." His right hand came out of his coat pocket. A string of shiny black beads dangled from his clenched fingers. "I was saying my rosary."

Taken aback, Lauren asked, "You're Catholic?"

As he nodded Lauren felt an instant rapport with him, and nostalgia for the better moments of her childhood. "I started out Catholic," she revealed, "but stopped going to church in my teens. My brother went on and became a priest."

Willoughby's eyes shone. "I once thought of becoming a priest. At times like this, praying gives me comfort, gives me hope. It puts me in touch with God. It helps me remember that He cares about me, wherever I am—and that ultimately, He's in control of the situation."

Moved by his admission, Lauren turned aside. All her adult life she had worked hard to be in control, to make every situation come out right—but sometimes, like now, that was impossible. There was no way for her to fix things and she was no longer sure Spock could, either. _Why hadn't he come?_ The thought of dying so soon after their marriage—of having to leave him behind—frankly tormented her. She envied the peace Willoughby derived from his rosary. In the midst of this crisis she had given little thought to prayer, but now the ensign's quiet words and example helped put her back in touch with God. _What would Spock think of that? If only he believed, too…_

oooo

Masking his growing concern from the bridge crew, Spock studied the latest influx of sensor reports. The transporter had completed another day of cycling, and the temperature of the planetoid was steadily dropping. Fierce storms blanketed two thirds of its surface. He knew without a doubt that his bondmate was still alive, but how much longer could the marooned officers survive such harsh conditions? Pain lanced him at the thought of losing Lauren. One paid a bitter price for love. A Vulcan learned to guard against the passions, rather than suffer their effects. But Spock was also human, and for Lauren he had let down his guard completely.

Out of nowhere a hand settled on his shoulder. He knew Kirk's touch and carefully ordered his emotions before acknowledging the captain's presence. Their eyes met, but neither of them broke the silence. Just now, there was no need for words.

oooo

Faint from hunger, Lauren stumbled from the shuttle. Her coat was made for severe conditions, but a frigid wind sliced through her pant legs, stealing precious warmth from her body. Only the thought of the hot spring started her down the frozen trail. She moved slowly, setting her boots carefully in the tracks Willoughby had left in the fresh snow. Her feet were numb, but when she arrived at the spring she could soak them in the warm water—the precious water that had helped keep them alive until now.

In the distance she saw steam whipped by the wind. As the spring came into view, another movement startled her. She stopped, heart pounding, and stared the fair-haired woman trudging toward the opposite bank of the spring. The woman halted at the same instant. For a long moment neither of them moved. This time there was no mistaking the Starfleet uniform and cold weather jacket, but now Lauren realized it was only a trick of her weary mind. She knew it for a fact because the figure across the spring was her.

All at once she became aware of a roaring sound rapidly drawing closer and increasing in intensity. Before she could turn and look, the gale struck. Pellets of ice stung her face, then a curtain of snow descended, blotting out the leaden sky, the spring, and the strange image. Blindly she turned, seeking the path back to the shuttle, but the blizzard had already swallowed her tracks. Shivering hard, she hunched into her coat and forced her panicky mind to think. _The hot spring! Maybe if she could reach it and submerge herself…_

Once more she turned. _Was this the right way?_ Even in the best of circumstances she had a poor sense of direction. For that reason she had barely passed Starfleet's standard survival course, and directional devices were useless here. She was on her own. Step by slow step she headed through the storm. Two, four, ten—she kept moving until it seemed certain that she had gone too far. Fresh fear seized her and she set off in a new direction, only to change her mind and turn again. Hopelessly lost, she stumbled through the gale.

oooo

At midday, Spock declined an invitation to join the captain for lunch. An indefinable feeling had come over him, an unpleasant tautness in the pit of his stomach that made him remain on the bridge monitoring the slow, steady progress of the transporter.

Suddenly the transporter system shut down. _Malfunction,_ he assumed, and was rapidly checking the power relay for any sign of trouble when the intercom predictably sounded. _Yes, he was aware of the problem._

"Transporter room to the bridge."

"Spock here," he answered in a distracted tone. His eyes—and his mind—were on the instruments.

Chief Rand's voice was jubilant. "The shuttle crew's onboard, sir! All well and accounted for!"

"Acknowledged," Spock responded from long habit.

Then relief struck with staggering force. All eyes were turned toward him. He paused and drew a deep, steadying breath before forwarding the information to Captain Kirk. Then assigning the bridge to the senior officer, he casually rose and headed for the turbolift in a carefully measured gait. It would not be seemly to run.

oooo

"Spock, take her to lunch and get her a decent meal," McCoy said, "doctor's orders."

Lauren would have liked a shower and shampoo, but just now food held the greater attraction. Easing off the examination table, she walked alongside her husband to the nearest turbolift. Each step was an effort.

"I feel so _heavy,"_ she said. She was weak from hunger and her body was still adjusting to normal gravity.

Spock cast her a look. "Shall I carry you?"

Thinking he might actually do it, she quickly said, "Don't you dare!" Just now she was rather annoyed with him and his Vulcan restraint. His greeting in sickbay had been downright anemic. Hadn't he been the least bit concerned about her? She might have died down there.

The lift arrived and they entered together. Spock ordered their destination and they were alone as the car moved through its shaft.

Fighting tears, Lauren stared at the doors and said, _"_ That was some welcome, Commander. At least _I_ missed _you."_

He was silent. Then his hands found her shoulders and gently turned her toward him. Though he was not given to romantic speech, there was no mistaking the intent in those dark eyes, or in the thoughts reaching toward her through his touch. Lauren's heart swelled with fierce, responsive love. And then she was in his arms.

oooo

The lunch crowd had thinned at the officers' mess. Chapel was nowhere to be seen, but Lauren noticed Willoughby at a corner table wolfing down meat and potatoes. Spock got a tray of her favorites and settled in beside her with thick vegetarian soup and Vulcan bread that a doe-eyed galley worker made especially for him—daily.

In between bites, Lauren told the story of her ordeal and mentioned coming face to face with an image of herself. Spock conjectured that her high PSI rating, acting together with the planetoid's strange qualities, might have created the image—perhaps only one that she could see.

"It would be interesting," he mused, "to conduct a field experiment. The captain is attempting to retrieve the shuttle using a tractor beam, and even if he is successful we _will_ remain in the area for some further study..."

Lauren's fork-hand froze midway to her mouth. "If you think I'm going back down there—"

Willoughby had finished his meal and was walking past. "Ensign," she called to him.

He stopped and came over. "Hello, Doctor Fielding…Mister Spock."

With a grateful smile Lauren said, "I just want to thank you for the help down there."

Willoughby's youthful face grew perplexed. "Ma'am?"

"Our conversation…in the shuttle."

Understanding dawned and he returned the smile. "Yes, Ma'am. But we both know who _really_ helped."

After the ensign walked on, Spock gave Lauren a quizzical look. "Was he…referring to me?"

Lauren laughed. She was feeling a lot better now, and said, "No…he was referring to God."

The Vulcan eyebrow twitched upward. It always did at any mention of God.

"Oh, don't give me that look," she said good-naturedly. "I _know_ you're older than me and oh-so-much wiser. Yet…you may not believe this, but you don't quite know _everything."_

Quickly he retorted, "I have never claimed to know everything."

"Only in the field of theology."

He opened his mouth, then shut it again and remained silent while Lauren worked on her pie.


End file.
